The Lost Have Only One Delieverance
by da-angel729
Summary: She's a daughter of kings, and will fulfil her destiny.


**Author's Note:** Written for the **femgenficathon** at LiveJournal with the following prompt: _Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. --Pema Chodron_. I own nothing; it's all J.R.R. Tolkien's. Dialogue in italics is taken directly from the Movie Tie-In 3-in-1 Edition of The Lord of the Rings, and some events have been modified to fit the story. As always, feedback and con crit appreciated!

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**The Lost Have Only One Deliverance**

_"The lost have only one deliverance: to hope for none." Virgil, The Aeneid_

--

The stars twinkle in the darkening sky, and she wonders what will happen to them. Not the Riders of Rohan—she knows they're all going to die—but those left behind in Rohan. Undefended.

Was she selfish, to leave the people she'd been charged to protect? To not stay behind and die, protecting them, and her home? To want to fulfill the glorious history of her ancestors, instead of meekly waiting for death to come to her?

She doesn't know, and the night holds no answers.

They stop to rest the horses, for only a moment, and the soldiers around her begin to talk quietly. What they'll face, how they'll live forever in the history of Rohan. She doesn't have the heart to tell them there will be no more history.

She says nothing to the soldiers, and they say nothing to her. She doesn't know if she's recognised, but it doesn't matter—they're all going to die.

Merry tries to make conversation, but she doesn't have anything to say. He's frightened—more than she is, since she's going to die—and she can't help him.

What do you say, she wonders, looking at Merry in the bright light of the moon, to someone who you know is going to die? How do you give comfort when you have no hope?

She doesn't know the answers, but she still stares at the sky. Trying to draw hope where there is none. The feeling, deep in her soul, of insignificance, of unimportance, begins to fade. The stars should make her feel small, yet she's never felt so sure. This is her destiny.

They're all going to die.

--

The battle's been raging for hours, and Eowyn knows she's almost through. Her strength is waning; her wish to die increasing. They're all going to die, and the longer the fight continues, the more she's sure of it.

She doesn't remember when she decided she was going to die. She thinks it was during her uncle's sickness, when Wormtongue fed him lies and shadowed her every move. Or when the misery was over, and Aragorn and his companions entered their lives, glowing with honour and a sense of purpose. She's missing a purpose from her own life, she knows. Her brother will rule, and she will do nothing. That is, if they're not all dead in a few hours. She's done nothing her entire life, and now she has nothing to live for. Nothing to hope for.

She's fighting, frantic, growing increasingly reckless. She sees her uncle get picked up, flung around to the ground. The Black Rider moves closer to Theoden.

She's in front of Theoden before she realises she's moved, standing between him and the Black Rider.

_No living man may hinder me!_ The Black Rider's voice rumbles through her, and she knows she's facing her destiny.

She laughs; steel of hundreds of years of royal bloodlines enters her voice.

_But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Eowyn I am, Eomund's daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him._

She stands, strong. One hand grips her sword, the other a shield. I'm a lady of Rohan, she thinks. I will not fail.

The winged creature of the Black Rider screams at her, and she feels its breath in her face. It's full of despair, death. But not his. Her death. She's ready. The creature flies into the air, swoops down, shrieking. Strength flows into her, and her sword becomes an extension of her hand. Swinging down, the sword cuts the head of the winged creature.

Stunned, she springs backs, prepares herself for the attack. The Black Rider crashes to the ground onto his creature, stands up. He swings the giant mace in his hand, shattering her shield.

She feels her arm break, and blackness sweeps into her soul.

She knows she's about to die, and has no regrets. No intention of living. Glory will only come to her through death, as it has through the lines of the lords of Rohan. She's a daughter of kings, and will fulfill her destiny.

She doesn't want to live.

The Black Rider swings his weapon around, and she waits, closing her eyes. Only a short while longer, and she'll live forever, a warrior of glory and renown.

She hears the Black Rider scream.

She opens her eyes, blinks against the light. The Black Rider is on his knees, and she can see Merry behind him, gripping his arm, pain stamped on his face.

She's not dead.

Merry's done something to him, she realises, and the Black Rider's in front of her. Howling in agony. She fights the pain and looks for her sword. Merry doesn't think he's going to die, she remembers suddenly. He wants to find his friends, and help them. Her shield lies next to her on the ground, but she couldn't hold it even if she wanted to.

The despair that entered her soul when she'd been struck is increasing. It's welcome, yet not. Her body's not fighting it, but her spirit is. She's accepted death, but a new feeling is filling her.

Hope. It springs from the very depths of her soul, a rush flowing through her entire body. She nearly weeps from the joy. But there's no time. She's a warrior, she thinks, and picks the sword up from the ground. The day seems brighter, the colours sharper.

She stands up.

She wants to live. She's going to live.

Her sword swings back, thrusts forward. The Black Rider screams. Pain shoots through her arm, and she collapses.

--

The dreams are dark, tortured. She replays the agony in the scream of the Black Rider, and her arm pain is only increasing. The despair has re-entered her soul, drowning the small flicker of hope.

There's a light above her, and she recognises the voice. Aragorn. And Eomer. She struggles against the darkness, wanting to see their faces. Hope flickers, wanes. Re-emerges.

Her eyes open. She's alive.


End file.
